


Drabbles

by ninamonday



Category: TWICE (Band), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/F, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:14:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 11,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25319638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninamonday/pseuds/ninamonday
Summary: A collection of drabbles and prompt meme fills previously posted on Twitter.Ships and tropes are in the table of contents, sexual content is marked with M or E, and other warnings are in the notes.
Relationships: Jeon Jungkook/Jung Hoseok | J-Hope, Jeon Jungkook/Jung Hoseok | J-Hope/Kim Taehyung | V, Jeon Jungkook/Kim Namjoon | RM, Jeon Jungkook/Kim Taehyung | V, Jeon Jungkook/Min Yoongi | Suga, Jeon Jungkook/Park Jimin, Jung Hoseok | J-Hope/Kim Namjoon | RM, Jung Hoseok | J-Hope/Kim Seokjin | Jin, Jung Hoseok | J-Hope/Park Jimin, Kim Namjoon | RM/Jackson Wang, Kim Namjoon | RM/Min Yoongi | Suga, Kim Namjoon | RM/Park Jimin, Kim Seokjin | Jin/Kim Taehyung | V, Kim Seokjin | Jin/Min Yoongi | Suga, Kim Seokjin | Jin/Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung | V/Park Jimin, Minatozaki Sana/Son Chaeyoung, Myoui Mina/Son Chaeyoung
Comments: 64
Kudos: 168





	1. namseok, a kiss to pretend

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Find me on [twt](https://www.twitter.com/ninamonday).

God bless Min Yoongi, the only person on Earth who has peered into the vast oceans of Hoseok's heart and innately understood how to wrangle the monsters that live there—he sends a picture of the tables as soon as the candles are set. No needless editorializing comment, just the facts for Hoseok's approval. Hoseok replies with a thumbs up and returns to Jungkook's message. 

Jungkook said,  _ don't worry, Jin-hyung figured out the music,  _ which could mean literally anything except something good.

Hoseok chews on the pad of his thumb while he considers it, and then returns to his messages with Yoongi.  _ Can you figure out what's up with the music?  _ he writes, and sighs.

Namjoon looks over with a questioning smile. "Is this okay? Are you bored?"

Hoseok has not watched one single second of Bob Ross while he's been on. Though Namjoon set out a second mini-canvas and paintbrush for him, he's been on his phone, trying to micromanage the surprise party from a distance. "I'm not bored at all!" he exclaims, with too much enthusiasm. He dials it back a notch, and adds, "And anyway, it's your birthday. You just enjoy Bob-ahjussi." 

He nods to Namjoon's canvas, and he's surprised to find it almost full.

"Let's go to the river," Namjoon says suddenly. "Come on, let's get our bikes."

Hoseok freezes. "What?" 

"I know, you have that reservation, but we can get hotteok." Namjoon smiles, brilliant and devastating. "Let's do something spontaneous."

Hoseok almost wails. He  _ hates _ spontaneity. They have to leave for a restaurant in the opposite direction from the river in exactly forty-eight minutes, and Hoseok spent too much on the ring in his jacket to ride a bike with it.

He holds back another sigh.

"Spontaneous, huh?" he purrs instead, and swings a leg across Namjoon's lap.

Namjoon is a simple man. His hands come to Hoseok's hips and his mouth opens, soft and yielding, under Hoseok's, but when Hoseok dips his chin away and wiggles his hips closer, Namjoon takes the cue to lead.

Hoseok guides Namjoon's hungry mouth down to his neck and shivers under the sharp rasp of teeth. He checks Yoongi's message about the music on his phone behind Namjoon's head, making sure everything is perfect. Perfect.


	2. vmin, a kiss out of spite

"What's so special about 95-line?" Hoseok grumbles at his phone. "How come yesterday wasn't 94-line day?"

Jimin gasps—on purpose, to be theatrical, but he feels it, too. "What do you mean, what's so special about 95-line?" 

He points at Taehyung's face (Taehyung blinks at his finger) until Hoseok looks up from his phone and sees, and then sits back and crosses his arms, satisfied with how thoroughly he won that argument.

"I'm just saying, September 4 could have been 94-line day," Hoseok says. He points at Namjoon's face, which is admittedly a strong rebuttal.

"Everyone can't get a day," Jimin says. "95-line is  _ special." _

"Every line could get a day," Yoongi says reasonably, "There are plenty of days," at the same time Jungkook says, "97-line is special. We have  _ Yugyeom." _

"We know," say Jin, Yoongi, and Namjoon at once. 

Jimin is disgusted, and makes a noise to show it. "You think you have what we have?" He scoots up the couch to put his arm around Taehyung's shoulders. Taehyung pats his knee. "I would murder any of you for Taehyung, I want you to know that."

"Any of us would murder you for Taehyung, too," Yoongi says in a tone of warm assurance.

"Aww, hyung," Taehyung says. He must feel Jimin's rage, though, because he turns in and puts his arm around Jimin's waist. "It's okay," he says. "We don't need them to understand."

"Yeah," Jimin says hotly, and then—well, time skips or something, Jimin is too full of the power of the 95 line and being  _ correct  _ to keep each moment in order after one before, and Taehyung's mouth is just right there and it belongs specially to Jimin, it  _ does. _ Jimin comes back to awareness already smacking his lips against it.

Taehyung gapes at him as he pulls away.

"All right," Hoseok says dryly. "You win."

"I'm texting Yugyeom," Jungkook says.


	3. yoonkook, a kiss to shut them up

Jungkook is so drunk, he thinks he understands tennis.

"So  _ love _ is the English word for  _ love  _ but it's the French word for  _ zero,"  _ he says to Taehyung. "They're related, as words."

Yoongi, who actually understands tennis but is too drunk to explain it, sinks farther down the couch to put his head in his hands.

Taehyung nods seriously. "Makes sense. Please go on."

"So when you start the game—well actually first you start the set, it's not a game until later—"

Yoongi groans, and Taehyung's phone makes a noise. He smiles when he looks at it, and jumps up. "Love is always a game, Jungkook-ah," he says sagely as he walks away.

Roger Federer's glare fills the center of the TV.

"They're in love," Jungkook says.

"Seems fake," Yoongi replies. 

"No, that's what you say, at the start of the game, because the score—"

"You don't say they're  _ in love,"  _ Yoongi says. "That's not what that means."

"What does it mean, then?" Jungkook asks, turning toward Yoongi with the full force of the pink pout, the soft, starry eyes.

They have been kissing for a month and having sex for one week and Yoongi's in real danger of saying something he shouldn't yet. Or should have a long time ago, maybe, and now has to get exactly right. His drunken focus blurs away everything in the world that isn't Jungkook's face.

"When they start the  _ game," _ he says, "You can say the score is love-love, or love-all. It's not a French thing, that's a—"

The origins of the myth get swallowed up in Jungkook's giggle, which he presses sweet and hot to Yoongi's lips. "Whatever, hyung. I was just messing with you. I know."

"You know bullshit," Yoongi says, even though he would rather be kissing.

"About tennis, maybe," Jungkook says. He doesn't say—not yet, but soon, maybe—what he knows instead.


	4. namkook, a kiss in a rush of adrenaline

"I've been thinking a lot about what you said," Namjoon begins. He sounds like he did when he was talking to the whole United Nations, dead serious and just a tiny bit shaky, even though he and Jungkook are alone in Jungkook's room.

"Really?" Jungkook squeaks in a very poor approximation of nonchalance. Like  _ he  _ hasn't been thinking about it all, like he tells people every day he's been in love with them for his entire adult life and he doesn't care about the consequences anymore.

When Namjoon said he needed to think, Jungkook figured that was a very gentle no. He went back to agonizing in silence, now with a queasy edge of humiliation. He might puke now, actually, all over Namjoon's lap where Namjoon keeps rubbing his palms down his thighs (his  _ thighs,  _ he's wearing  _ sweatpants,  _ they look so soft when they stretch across the shapes where his muscles are hard—)

"We have such a tremendous responsibility," Namjoon said. "You know, to the band, to the company. When I think of—you know—I mean—so many people's livelihoods depend on us—"

"Right," Jungkook says, to save Namjoon the stuttering and himself having to listen. It is no, then. Namjoon pulled him aside to make him listen to all the reasons it's no in exhaustive, thoughtful detail. He probably thinks that's kind, but Jungkook can't take a deep enough breath to receive that kindness the way Namjoon intends it. His ears are buzzing. 

This thing isn't just in Jungkook's head or heart, it's in his whole body. He can already feel how hard he's going to crash when Namjoon leaves. He eyes the trajectory toward his pillow, just past Namjoon's shoulder, where he's going to bury his face and scream all this out.

"At the same time," Namjoon continues, like a professor, "I don't think we have anything to be ashamed of and I really don't want you experiencing your feelings as shame, if I can—you know, if it's not presumptuous—I mean, I know I can't be the one to control—or even aspire to control—"

"Right," Jungkook says, to save them again, thinking very hard about the lavender linen spray that his pillow is going to smell like when this is over. 

"Right," Namjoon says, and takes a big, deep breath that sounds like he's about to stand and go.

He shifts a little closer on the edge of Jungkook's bed. "So, I do think it's best to keep things secret, for the band but also for us—"

Jungkook's gaze snaps back to his face. His ears are ringing so loud he has to concentrate to hear.

"But if you ever, ever start feeling that as shame, I hope you'll tell me, and we can discuss being more open, maybe with the others—"

"Wait," Jungkook says.

Namjoon stops, closes his mouth with a too-hard  _ snap, _ like he's not used to the motion.

"Are you saying yes?" Jungkook asks.

Namjoon blinks at him. Jungkook blinks back.

Namjoon groans and tosses himself back on the bed. "Oh fuck, I'm sorry,  _ yes  _ I was saying yes. Look, are you sure, like, have you seen yourself—"

And he's going on, probably, but the buzzing in Jungkook's ears is so loud he can't hear it, and his body launches itself forward.

Namjoon thigh is hard muscle under Jungkook's hand, just like he thought, but his mouth, his beautiful dumb mouth, is only soft.


	5. twice sana/chaeyoung, a kiss for luck

In an act of gallantry that now seems foolish, Chaeyoung made Sana take the big gun, and she gathered up the smaller and less effective weapons for herself.

It takes her longer to get things in order, two mid-size pistols leaking water into the pockets of her cargo pants and four of the teeny ounce-size guns tucked in around the extra foam darts for the nerf gun.

Once she has it all in order and straightens, she sees Sana waiting patiently, holding the huge water rifle close to her side as she peeks around the edge of the glass door.

Chaeyoung pauses. It's a lot, okay—Sana's pretty pink hair and the little smile she's biting down, her short denim skirt and her big black gun. Chaeyoung is but a humble lesbian. Sometimes she needs to process these things.

"Ready?" Sana whispers. Chaeyoung joins her to peek around the edge of the door.

The other girls are lying around a pool, carefully tucked under hats and umbrellas and sunglasses to get the most enjoyment out of their bikinis. "I've got Momo and Nayeon-unnie," Sana whispers.

They're closest to the door, lying side by side in deck chairs. Chaeyoung can already taste the deliciousness of their screams when Sana gets them with a cold blast of the rifle.

The other way, Dahyun is lying on her belly under an umbrella, half-asleep, and Chaeyoung will have the perfect angle to pop a nerf dart off her squishy tofu butt.

"Got it," Chaeyoung says, and meets Sana's eye. "Hwaiting!"

Sana dips in and presses her lips to Chaeyoung's cheek, firm and sure. "Hwaiting," she whispers, and then she runs a step ahead out the door, Chaeyoung darting to catch up.


	6. M - vmin, a kiss to give up control

Jimin settles back against the pillows and tries to count his breath—six beats in, eight out—but he can’t make himself relax. The whole point is that he can’t relax on his own.

“Take off your shirt,” Taehyung says—the sentence stutters to a stop as Taehyung cuts off his instinct to add something gentler or more polite to the end.

That’s all right; they’re still slipping into roles, Taehyung pacing at the foot of the bed to make himself big in his body and make them both feel it. Anyway, the shirt’s the easy part. Jimin takes it off and tosses it at Taehyung, smiling as Taehyung gives him censorious eyebrows.

And then it all starts sliding into place, Taehyung crawling up the bed and climbing over Jimin, nudging Jimin’s legs apart and touching his skin, tracing up his side to make him all shivery and gliding slowly, slowly down his arm to take his wrist. 

He lifts it over Jimin’s head, guiding his hand to the cuff hooked to the headboard, but an unwelcome instinct flashes hot in Jimin’s chest, and he snatches his hand away.

Taehyung’s face softens like melting butter, his eyes falling wide. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Jimin tries to lift his hands again, giving them to Taehyung to bind away from him, but his chest folds nervously closed and he ends up clutching his hands close.

“Jimin-ah, Jimin-ah." Taehyung folds him up in a hug. “We don’t have to do it like this. We can do whatever you want.”

“I do want it like this,” Jimin says. Or, maybe more truly, he needs it. In a small voice, he asks, “Can you just make me?”

Taehyung doesn’t sigh, but Jimin is close enough to feel the big heave of him holding it back.

He presses his lips to Jimin’s temple and then down to his jaw, puts him back on the pillows again like he’s placing a porcelain figurine in a box. Or putting away a gun that’s liable to go off.

Taehyung takes Jimin’s wrist again, but he just lifts Jimin’s hand to his lips and kisses the pads of his fingers, one at a time, pinky last.

“Are you sure?” Taehyung asks.

“Yes.”

Taehyung nods, but he still doesn’t force, not really. He says, “Open your mouth for me?” And it’s Jimin’s own effort to relax his jaw, to let his lips fall apart, to finally give under the gentle pressure of Taehyung’s kiss and the tighter grip around his wrist.


	7. namgi, a kiss in grief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: death as a metaphor (no actual death)

Of all the horrible things about "Danger" —

(And there are so many, every day; Yoongi doesn't know yet that in a few years he'll sit around laughing on camera about how this is the lowest point of his life, he's still stuck living it—)

—the worst is having to keep performing it. It's almost morbid, getting on stage day after day to do this song they know no one wants. Like Bangtan is a zombie, shuffling around in its own reanimated corpse. Like they're at their own wake, and they can't even cry because they have to make small talk with the mourners.

Yoongi got up to make ramen because if he stayed still in bed any longer he was going to start screaming. Now he's staring at the empty bowl, looking for the energy to stand up and wash it. He's feeling sorry for himself about how tired he is when Namjoon, who must have been working this whole time, comes home.

He enters quietly, and by the time he notices Yoongi sitting at the table, it's too late to announce himself. He drops his bag in silence, and takes Yoongi's bowl as he walks past him to get a snack.

It makes Yoongi angry for some reason, or for no reason, the way his anger often comes. "You should sleep more," he says. "There's no point in working yourself sick for this."

For this. There are things Yoongi would work himself sick for, but he can't remember why this wilting thing is one of them.

Namjoon closes a cabinet and reveals his face, impassive. The pale hair makes him look washed-out when he doesn't have his makeup on, or maybe that's the hour, or maybe it's this life.

"I'm working on the next concept," he says. "We're going to tell a whole new story. It's…" An incongruous smile flickers across his face. "I think it could be really good."

Yoongi shrugs and doesn't say anything more as Namjoon comes to sit next to him with a bag of tofu crackers. His whole body hurts when he imagines disbanding early, even though he'd probably finish out his contract as a producer and that's supposed to be what he wants. But it's just as awful to imagine carrying on, suspended in failure.

"I feel like a zombie," Yoongi says. 

Namjoon squints.

"I mean." Yoongi pauses, swallows hard, considers whether it would be best to put the weapon away. Fires anyway. "I feel like it's already over."

"You know it isn't. We have another comeback in a couple months."

Yoongi makes a noise to show he heard. He even sounds like a zombie.

"I'll tell you about the new concept tomorrow," Namjoon says. "You'll be more excited after you get some rest."

Will he? Maybe. Yoongi tries to imagine what he might get excited about as they get up and put the rest of the things away to go to bed. If this group he gave up everything for doesn't matter—if he has to let it die and start over—what would he want? What would he take into the next life?

Namjoon touches Yoongi's waist to navigate around him in the tiny kitchen, and it shocks all the way up Yoongi's spine. He's been trying to avoid touching Namjoon too much, because his poor animal body gets confused by it, because…

Well, why? What does it matter? What is he hiding for?

He turns into the touch and grabs Namjoon's arm. Namjoon freezes—the question hits his eyes but doesn't come out of his mouth.

Yoongi kisses him.

He presses his lips against Namjoon's softer ones and holds there like he's hanging off a ledge. He feels Namjoon's inhale across his own cheek and steps back.

Namjoon touches his own mouth. Yoongi's face is hot, but he doesn't turn away. Doesn't back down.

Namjoon pulls his hand away and rubs the pads of his fingers and thumb together slowly, like Yoongi left something on his mouth he can feel there. The kind of fine, slippery residue that won't easily wash away.

"Ah, hyung," Namjoon says. "Please don't give up yet."


	8. 2seok, a kiss on a place of insecurity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to the airplane pt 2 video for my life

Looks like somebody gave Hoseok one (1) shot of something while Jin was in the bathroom, because when he gets back, Hoseok is dancing on the bar.

Luckily, this is the sort of establishment where people do that, and folks are happy enough to sit back with their drinks and cheer as he thrusts his hips into his hand. Each snap is a neat, sharp pop even though the rest of his movements are loopy—no amount of alcohol can make Hoseok forget how to work his hips.

That might be an interesting thing to think about, so it's lucky, too, that Jin has never had a thought in his life and doesn't intend to start now.

"Hey!" He waves until Hoseok sees him. "Why don't you get down?"

"Hyung!" Hoseok does not move to get down, but he nearly falls off anyway trying to get Jin to come up and join him. The bartender's patience dips visibly.

And so, with the heavy ease of inevitability, Jin climbs onto the bar.

"Hyung!" Hoseok shouts again, as if he forgot Jin was here in the intervening thirty seconds. "Everyone, it's Jin-hyung," he calls over the crowd, even though they're going about their own nights and not listening.

Jin makes a gallant bow, and signals to the bartender that he'll take care of this.

Hoseok shimmies over hips-first, smooth as liquid, and then changes entirely to flop into Jin's arms. Jin reels to hold him steady—there's not a lot of bartop to balance on, and he's surprised. He hugs Hoseok a lot, but Hoseok doesn't usually hug him.

Hoseok blinks blearily up and smiles like sunshine.

"You're going to be so embarrassed tomorrow," Jin says.

"Nuh-uh," is Hoseok's eloquent rebuttal, and then he's leaning up and sweetly kissing Jin’s lips. Jin jolts so hard he almost knocks them both off the bar, and the bartender starts banging for them to get down, but Jin can't hear it over the cheering.


	9. taejin, a kiss as a yes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: it's not tentacles because technically octopus appendages are arms but uh it's tentacles. Not explicit.

Taehyung's head pops up over the side of the boat. He tosses a fish in and beams up at Jin.

"Beautiful," Jin says. He eyeballs the pile and begins to reel in his line. "Actually, I think that's enough for today."

Since he met Taehyung, Jin hasn't  _ stopped _ working, but the fact is, Taehyung catches three fish for each one Jin does, and so Jin is getting twice as much done in half the time. He actually can't bring any more than this into the market each day… he's not interested in explaining Taehyung to the people on shore.

Taehyung's human arms are resting easily on the edge of the boat, not what is holding him ten feet above the water. The blunt, curious tip of a rosy octopus arm peeks up, and then Taehyung is hauling himself over. 

Yoongi goes into the cabin without a  _ single word _ as he has been ordered to on several previous occasions, and Taehyung is sliding across the deck in a complex eight-armed shuffle like a dance. He stops an inch from Jin's face. "Hi, hyung."

Jin produces a handkerchief and dabs away some of the water around Taehyung's hairline that the sun hasn't evaporated yet. Taehyung accepts the attention graciously, smiling into Jin's eyes. When he's in the air, the gills on his sides seal closed, and he breathes with deep, happy sighs. 

"All right," Jin says, putting his wet handkerchief away, and then he has two armsful of beaming octopus-man. 

"Will you fry the croaker for lunch?" Taehyung never had cooked fish before he started sneaking onto the boat; it's possible he thinks Jin and Yoongi invented frying.

"Yoongi's already starting it," Jin says. "We brought some beer, too."

Taehyung wrinkles his nose, but there are undeterred octopus arms creeping around Jin's waist and legs, one limb slipping under his shirt and testing his skin with tiny points of suction.

Jin remembers thinking this was gross—he remembers screaming like the boat's whistle when he first saw Taehyung—but he can't remember why. Taehyung's arms are so subtle and clever, and there are so  _ many _ of them, and nobody else on the bay has someone so strange and special climbing into their boats to bring them gifts.

Still, when Taehyung taps his lips to ask for a kiss, Jin hesitates. 

"Hyung," Taehyung whines. "I like you so much. I know you like me, too."

Jin looks down between their bodies, his long, straight limbs and Taehyung's winding around them.

"I'm not very adventurous," Jin says slowly.

"Oh, that's okay," Taehyung says brightly. "I am! But hyung, is it that big of an adventure, one  _ little, tiny  _ kiss?"

There's a spot on Taehyung's waist, the natural place to hold, where his skin changes, growing smoother as it slides down. Jin likes how it feels against his palms, how touching Taehyung there makes his upper body go goosebumps all over.

"You do like me, right, hyung?" Taehyung asks softly.

And, well. It's just one little kiss.


	10. jikook, a kiss for luck

The home team locker room is much nicer than the away. It's not that there's anything wrong with the facilities Jungkook's team is using, but as he sneaks into the other side of the stadium, everything gets brighter, glowing in the Lions' soft blue. There are small touches of luxury—a nicer carpet, throw pillows on a sofa—and of home. Jungkook lifts a bun that looks homemade off a table of food and pockets it carefully.

He hasn't changed into his uniform yet and he keeps his cap down low in hopes no one will recognize him and blow his cover. He's still a rookie, and most of these guys don't know him. Still, he can feel the strange looks he's getting. He stops stealing treats and focuses on his goal, the batting cages.

There's the Lions' star slugger, Park Jimin, staring down the pitching machine like he can intimidate it into balking. Jungkook, who will be the one pitching to Park Jimin in about three hours, finds it pretty effective.

Jimin smacks a ball into the backdrop, the machine and the bat and the final impact three loud snaps in the basement. Under the noise, Jungkook sneaks in the cage door.

"Your back knee is too soft," he says in Jimin's ear, and almost gets rewarded for his sneakiness with a baseball bat to the cranium.

He ducks away, laughing, as Jimin tosses the bat away and starts squawking. "Jeon Jungkook! What are you doing here? Go back to your locker room!"

"I came to get my good luck kiss," Jungkook says, taking Jimin into his arms.

"I don't want you to be lucky," Jimin says haughtily. "I want to hit three home runs."

Jungkook ignores him, kissing the side of his mouth as he tries to turn his face away. "Hyung," he whines, and that works. Jimin gives him a tiny kiss, but not so small it doesn't have room for a wet slip of tongue, and when Jungkook whispers, "Good luck," Jimin replies, "You, too."

Jungkook grins in a way he's sure must be dazzling. "Play good, and I'll pitch you something else later," he says, and takes off at a run as Jimin goes to get his bat again.


	11. namkook, a kiss because the world is saved

In the net, the thief is still fighting—screaming and thrashing, abusing Namjoon's name. Namjoon would shout back, but he can't right now. He hobbles to a stop under the net swinging in the tree and bends over, hands on his knees, to pant. His chest is locked in a painful vice. He wants to sit, swaying on his jellied legs, but this thief has been giving him a ferocious runaround for three days and in front of such power, even trapped helplessly, it would be unwise to kneel.

"You have to let me go!" The thief sounds almost panicked. He's so frantic he's making the trees ooze red and black sap in sympathetic magic. "I'm not going to hurt anyone, I promise, I just  _ need _ it—"

Namjoon shakes his head and finally pulls in enough breath to speak. "I don't know what you think is going to happen, but you  _ can't. _ The crystal in that weapon…" His throat closes not with the run but with emotion. "If you fire it once, at anyone, the whole city will be a crater."

"I'm not going to fire it," the thief says. Namjoon isn't interested—he's sure everyone thinks that when they get a bow, and look at the war-torn world they live in, magic like lava bleeding up from the very earth. The only person who can be allowed near that weapon is Namjoon himself. He's going to destroy it, and hope one act of good can counter some tiny part of the evil he's wrought.

_ How _ he's going to get into the fortress to do that, he isn't sure. If only he were strong like this thief.

While he figures it out, though, the least he can do is protect the crystal from afar.

"I don't want to fire it," the thief says again, mulish. He has squirmed around in the net to get himself mostly seated, fists tight in the ropes. His body is as powerful as Namjoon has seen these past few days, but his face is younger than Namjoon guessed, prettily made. "I need it to trade. They have my hyung in the prison at the Keep."

Namjoon doesn't care, he can't—everyone has a story—but the thief continues, "Taehyungie-hyung has a weak heart. He won't make it in prison."

Namjoon stands. He had a letter from his mother last week, saying little Kim Taehyung from down the street, a grown man now but still that sweet thing inside, got arrested for giving food to rebels. The Keep.

Maybe it's just a name. But maybe… maybe this is something like destiny.

"How were you going to get into the fortress?" Namjoon asks.

The thief shrugs, which is total madness. "There's no wall I can't climb."

Well, Namjoon would believe it. But… "What about the spiked gears?" He asks. "The codes?"

The thief sets his jaw. "I'll figure it out."

Namjoon calculates his odds, trying to read the thief's pleading eyes. "My name is Kim Namjoon," he finally says. 

The thief starts thrashing again. It cuts Namjoon's heart, how his name became this thing. The architect, the mastermind behind the fortress and the Keep and—well, and a dozen other places he'd never have built if he'd known what they were going to be used for, if he'd looked up from the puzzles that so fascinated him long enough to see what the world was becoming.

"Listen," Namjoon says. "I can get you in."

That stops the thief cold.

"We'll trade, like you said," Namjoon says. "I'll help you get into the Keep and get your hyung, and then you help me get into the fortress and destroy the bow."

The thief glares. "And then?"

Namjoon shakes his head. Maybe they part ways in silence. Maybe they keep working together and save the world. He's never met anyone who could run and climb like this man.

"All right," the thief says. 

Namjoon lets him carefully down, a complicated rigging camouflaged by the tree that lowers the net with a smooth mechanical whir. He sees the thief's fascination, but Namjoon is no longer impressed by his own invisible, inescapable clockwork.

It takes all the trust in Namjoon's heart to open the net. The thief could run and Namjoon would never catch him again. He could probably kill Namjoon first with his bare hands.

He only stands, straightens his clothes, and meets Namjoon's gaze with a bright and impossible smile. "I'm Jungkook," he says.

Namjoon nods and puts out his hand to shake. Jungkook jumps forward instead, pulling him into a hug. "Thank you."

Namjoon is sure he does not deserve thanks yet. This is the most anyone has touched him in… he can't calculate it. "Let's go get your friend," he says.

Dry, soft lips touch Namjoon's cheek, and he closes his eyes against the green and gold light—call it hope—that starts spilling between the trees.


	12. E - jinmin, a kiss without a motive

But sometimes it's just this, the honest and unromantic light of a whole free afternoon filling Seokjin's room. He lies back and lets Jimin take control, because when they have these little stretches of free time he likes to relax completely, and Jimin still likes to succeed at something.

Jimin has clever, patient hands, and he's learned how to use them to make Seokjin relax and grow tense again anew. When it's Jimin's turn, he'll want to shiver and whine in Seokjin's hands for every minute they have. Too much teasing makes Seokjin bored, makes him get in his head, makes him nervous of the vulnerability of spreading himself bare like this. Even after all this time.

So Jimin serves him nothing but pleasure, poured out in a smooth, steady stream to make it last. "You're doing so good, hyung," he says as he pushes Seokjin's hair away from his face and works four fingers inside him. Not because Seokjin needs to hear it, really, but because Jimin would need to hear it so much that he likes to say it.

Seokjin gives him a lazy smile. His edges are all blurred into Jimin's, hazy and warm. 

"Ready?" Jimin asks. 

It feels like it takes a lot of energy to nod, and Jimin giggles at how he must look.

Jimin is hard against Seokjin's thigh, hips shifting like it feels urgent, but he moves up the bed to kiss Seokjin's neck and then his ear and then his slack mouth, whining into a kiss until Seokjin kisses back.

"Ready, I said," Seokjin mumbles, and Jimin smiles against his lips.

"I'm getting there. We have all afternoon."


	13. taekook, a kiss in a rush of adrenaline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the drama The K-2. Warnings: references to ptsd.

Jungkook opens the car's door and leans down to help Taehyung out, extending a chivalrous and professional hand. Taehyung is frozen. There are photographers camped out behind the barricade across the street, and if a flashbulb goes off in Taehyung's eyes, he will not survive it.

He knows, in his head, that it's okay, that they can't hurt him, that this is the ache of an old wound that's all healed on the surface. But he doesn't feel it, and one flash will send him back to the deepest hurt in himself and he  _ can't  _ take it, he  _ can't _ — 

"One second," Jungkook says, and closes Taehyung back into his dim, safe cavern. He walks around to open the trunk, and Taehyung gets out of his anxiety some, twisting to watch.

Jungkook returns with a blanket and a toothy smile. "For emergencies."

"What kind of emergency?" Taehyung asks. "When you need to freeze to death slightly slower?"

Jungkook spreads the blanket over the crack in the door, blocking out the light. "This kind. Come on up. I'll keep you safe."

Taehyung looks up at him and, well… believes it. He stands, and Jungkook executes an elegant little sweeping maneuver around him to keep them both covered by the blanket. He peeks out of one corner, careful to block Taehyung from the light.

"All right, step," Jungkook says softly, and they shuffle forward together. "Are you scared?"

Taehyung nods. He looks down at his hands, which seem distant and strange. They're shaking.

"Oh," Jungkook says. He twitches, like he wants to take Taehyung's hands, but he's holding the blanket up. "You can… put your arms around me."

"Okay." Taehyung slides his arm around Jungkook's waist. He's warm and solid and he smells good, like something crisp and fresh, this close. Whatever he wears, it's subtle—it would be terribly unprofessional for a bodyguard to project cologne all over a room, and Jungkook cares about being professional. It's why he always keeps that careful inch between them when they sit together on the roof.

There's no inch between them now, and Jungkook is going pink. Taehyung has seen him roundhouse-kick armed men in the head, and he's blushing under Taehyung's touch. It makes Taehyung feel powerful, which is not a way he gets to feel very often.

"Up," Jungkook says, and they start climbing the stairs one slow step at a time to keep in sync. "That was a pretty intense day," he says, in an act of remarkable understatement. "But you did great."

"You did," Taehyung says. "Maybe tomorrow we can just go get spicy rice cakes."

Jungkook laughs, so close the heat of it falls across Taehyung's mouth. Taehyung smiles. They've stopped on the steps, staring at each other.

Jungkook swallows and looks down. "Step."

They take the last few steps a little faster, now that they have one another's rhythm. All the air inside the blanket is warm and clean-smelling with Jungkook's heat. He unlocks the door without disturbing the blanket, and closes them safely inside.

He doesn't pull the blanket away, though, and Taehyung doesn't let go of his waist. 

"Are you still scared?" Jungkook asks.

Taehyung shakes his head. He feels light-headed as it falls away, and almost dizzy with closeness, and his heart is beating very fast, but he's not afraid.

He turns his head closer, and Jungkook does too, and Taehyung tilts his face. He's not afraid. Jungkook's lips fit lightly against his, and he's not afraid.


	14. namgi, a kiss because time has run out

Yoongi watches through the oven door, almost vibrating with his contained, internal excitement, and Namjoon watches him, letting the excitement rattle through him, too.

Even if this works, it's hard to imagine how they'll sell chocolate souffles out of this storefront. It's appointment baking—people would have to call an hour in advance to show up on time and eat immediately—and you don't get customers like that unless you're, well, a whole lot more famous than Sugar Genius, anyway.

But honestly, they don't sell much out of this storefront anyway, and at least the souffle has Yoongi more focused and excited than he's been in days.

The timer goes off.

Yoongi takes the souffle out carefully. It looks good, rising asymmetrically out of the dish like a sand dune, smooth and evenly dark.

"You try it." Yoongi hands Namjoon a spoon, clutching the other in his fist like a weapon. "I'm too nervous."

Namjoon is surprised, but he's practicing not arguing with Yoongi unless it's important, and anyway he really wants to try it.

The souffle gives like air under his spoon, light and smooth as cream, but the taste is rich and full in his mouth. His eyes roll back in his head. "Hyung, you have to try—" he starts, but Yoongi's already digging in.

For once, they don't talk about money or time or stress. It doesn't matter whether they can sell the next one—they have nothing more important to do than eat this one before it deflates. Yoongi's eyes are sparkling.

As they put their spoons down, Namjoon gets overtaken by an ill-advised rush of physical affection, and he snatches Yoongi into a hug. 

Hugging is not supposed to be complicated but Namjoon always fits his together wrong and regrets them halfway through. Yoongi is strange to hold—there's always more of him than Namjoon expects, but somehow he feels terribly, achingly small enough to crush. Namjoon has his neck at a wrong angle, his face jammed into the side of Yoongi's head.

And when he pulls away, Yoongi is blinking up at him, stunned into stillness. On his cheek, there's a smear of chocolate shaped just like Namjoon's clumsy mouth, and underneath it, his skin is turning pink.

"Well, I can clean this up," Namjoon says, flaming too, and lets Yoongi go out to stand at the counter in the empty patisserie looking like he's just been kissed.


	15. minjoon, a kiss as a yes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: some werewolf-related body horror.

Namjoon wakes up, naked and bruised, on the floor of the fortified shed he built for his transformations. Everything hurts, especially his joints and his neck under the iron collar he wears, chained to the wall, and his mouth, still full of too-big teeth cutting his tenderest skin as they slowly shrink and settle back into place.

The worst part of a bad morning is the door swinging slowly open. Jimin is silhouetted in a yellow-white sunrise and Namjoon can't see the expression on his face, but the set of his shoulders is furious. 

He's been outside the door all night. Namjoon knows—the wolf could smell him—but he asks, "How long have you been there?" Just for something to say.

"I followed you last night." Jimin sounds less angry than tired. He steps into the shed and the light adjusts around him, and he looks exhausted, too, red-eyed and blotchy. Maybe Namjoon was seeing his own angry demons in Jimin's shadow. "I thought you were cheating on me."

They haven't had the exclusivity conversation yet—Namjoon is principled enough not to tie Jimin to his cursed life but too cowardly to let him go—and he feels a nonsensical, hopeless flutter of want at the idea that Jimin would call it cheating. 

"I have to do this every month," Namjoon says, gesturing to the cabin around him, the gouges the wolf left in the walls and the raw scrapes down the pads of Namjoon's fingers. "I— it's— I couldn't…" There's nothing to say. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Jimin asks.

Namjoon stares around the wrecked room. His jaw hangs open, breath raspy around his misshapen teeth. He doesn't even know where to start.

"You're sorry for lying to me," Jimin says in a little chant that beckons Namjoon to repeat it. Jimin is a kindergarten teacher and bosses adults around in that kid-voice when he thinks they deserve it. One of Namjoon's many secret shames is how hot he finds that.

"I'm sorry for lying to you," Namjoon repeats dutifully. He's becoming aware of his limbs, of his own horrible hurt nakedness, and he shifts himself up to a more human seat.

Jimin nods. "We can talk about the rest after I sleep. Is this the key to… all that?" He avoids looking at Namjoon's rigging of locks and chains, and gestures to the lockbox on the wall.

Namjoon nods.

"What's the code?" Jimin asks.

Namjoon is burning. "I don't remember yet."

Jimin's eyebrows jump, and he glares like he's trying to look through Namjoon and into his heart.

"I'll remember when my mind comes all the way back," Namjoon says. "Then it's safe to get out." Sometimes it takes hours, sitting on the hard floor feeling mostly like himself, cold and forlorn, waiting for his teeth to fit and his memories to filter back.

Jimin's eyebrows rise and fall again, slower, and he gets a bottle of water from Namjoon's stack by the door. He takes a step closer.

"You should stay back," Namjoon says quickly.

Jimin makes a little sound of disgust and crosses the shed, popping the cap of the bottle open and handing it forward.

Namjoon takes it, watching his own hand reach out, grasp the bottle, draw it back. He's holding his breath.

But nothing happens, of course, except that now he has water. His throat is dry and raw after a long night, and he drinks desperately and sloppily, splashing it all over himself. He loses track of Jimin and jolts back to awareness when the threadbare towel from the bag comes softly to his chest.

Jimin clicks his tongue as he wipes sweat and dirt and blood from Namjoon's chest. "Oh, hyung," he whispers, so close Namjoon can feel it.

"Please be careful," Namjoon says. "I don't want to hurt you."

Jimin meets his gaze. "Then no more lies."

That's not what Namjoon meant, but Jimin is close and beautiful and being so, so gentle, so Namjoon just nods and closes his eyes. He forgets the ache of his teeth in his jaw when Jimin's lips press into his, just once, before he nudges Namjoon to drink again.


	16. M - jihope (+ bg namkook), loyalty kink

Jimin is attentive to every sound in the night spread out before him—the murmur of the camp below his position at the entrance to His Grace's tent, the whispers and whistles of wind through the dunes, the pockets of silence where shadows might hide His Grace's enemies—but none of it is loud enough to cover the sounds of His Grace's pleasure.

His Grace lets go an especially rough sound, a moan that scrapes out of him and breaks in the middle. Jimin swallows hard and takes a big, steadying breath. Inside the tent, Jungkook's laugh is high and sweet. "You liked that, Namjoon-ah," he says, does not ask.

His Grace moans again.

Jungkook is just a hostler, just nobody, and younger even than Jimin. He shouldn't dare to look in His Grace's eye. And yet he addresses His Grace by name, and that, even more than His Grace's voice and the raw sounds of bodies in the tent, is a shocking thing. Almost obscene. Jimin is aware of the shape of his body under his leather armor and the folds of his robes, how each breath moves through him like a wave and the tide starts to pool low in his belly. With intention, he focuses on the landscape, staring around the empty night in an arc.

The desert night is cooling fast at Jimin's front, but the fire inside the tent warms his back, a drop of sweat trickling slowly down his spine. It must be so hot in there. They must both be slick with it, skin shining. Jimin shifts, pressing his thighs together under his robes and adjusting his grip on his staff.

There's the sound of a step to Jimin's side and he whips the staff up—but it's only Hoseok, His Grace's trusted right hand. Jimin nods and puts the staff down.

"Ah, they're still at it," Hoseok says.

It's not a question, so Jimin isn't forced into the awkward position of answering, but even a nod feels like too much to admit. "I don't know, Captain."

"Up, up," Jungkook's voice says, and then there's the unmistakable sound of a slap, so sharp Jimin jumps.

Hoseok snorts, but he says, "Your discretion is appreciated."

Jimin glances at him. Hoseok has a fine, lithe figure in his homespun robe, and he holds himself lightly as he leans against the tentpole, but his gaze is intent on Jimin's face. Jimin's vows were to His Grace, but it's Hoseok who embodies His Grace's will as he moves through the camp every day. Jimin watches him carefully, constantly.

"It's my honor to serve."

"It's a lot to ask, to stand guard these sleepless nights." Hoseok's smile twists wryly as His Grace's cries rise to a steady rhythm. "But His Grace and I both know we're lucky to have someone we can trust here."

He puts his hand on the back of Jimin's neck, a simple, even brotherly gesture, but Jimin's skin is so tensely primed under the cold-hot air and the sounds coming from the tent that it feels like a caress, and a humiliating small sound slips between Jimin's lips.

Hoseok doesn't pull away. He rubs his thumb up Jimin's neck. "Very lucky," he says.


	17. taejin, high heels

Seokjin takes the box from the salesman and kneels at Taehyung’s feet himself, though that’s surely the salesman’s job. Well—they’re here to throw around enough money that they can probably be granted a few idiosyncrasies.

Seokjin rolls a silk sock up Taehyung’s ankle and slips the shoe onto his foot, fitting it first gently over his toes and then sliding the heel into place. It has a little strap, which Seokjin buckles deftly. Taehyung leans back on his hands, pressing them into the slick black leather of the bench, as Seokjin puts on the second shoe.

Seokjin rises to his full height and extends a hand to help Taehyung stand, though Taehyung doesn’t need it.

Seokjin says, “Walk for me,” and Taehyung strides across the store.

He doesn’t make any extra effort to sashay, but in six-inch platform heels, it’s impossible not to sway a little. He can feel them watching—not just the salesman working with them but the others in the store, a few customers, and of course Seokjin. Always, always Seokjin.


	18. M - taekook, black swan corset

Taehyung stretches out on the cool sheets of the hotel bed, wriggling out the day’s tension. He doesn’t have to wait long for the sound of a keycard in the door, and he lifts his head to see Jungkook, freshly showered and dressed in giant black sweats.

“What, no corset?” Taehyung asks, just teasing.

Jungkook looked awfully good at today’s video shoot—so good Taehyung actually told him so sincerely on set. Now, Jungkook grins in a way that is still handsome but much more alarming—too smug to be trusted. Taehyung sits up, wary.

“I thought you’d say that,” Jungkook says and lifts the hem of his sweatshirt to reveal a couple of inches of pale skin covered by, unmistakably, sheer black lace.

“Wha-at?” Taehyung says slowly, shifting forward on the bed and reaching for Jungkook’s waist. He moves willingly, letting Taehyung slide his hands under the hem of the sweatshirt to trace the boning that stretches panels of lace around Jungkook’s waist.

“You like that?” Jungkook asks, like a gross porn star, but Taehyung is too awestruck to spar with him. He just nods and pushes the hem of Jungkook’s sweatshirt up until Jungkook takes it off.

He’s found a corset much more delicate than the one he wore to shoot, with panels of lace and ribbon crossing his chest and shoulders. It’s prettier, so it’s much more him, and maybe more vulnerable than his smirking face will give away.

“So good,” Taehyung says, looking up to catch Jungkook’s gaze and show he means it.

Jungkook smiles back and moves closer, coming to stand between Taehyung’s legs at the end of the bed. Taehyung scoops his hands under the hem of Jungkook’s sweatpants, around the firm muscles of Jungkook’s ass—he is going to die if Jungkook has panties on under there.

He doesn’t, but his black boxer-briefs are almost as good, hugging him as tight as the lace. “Fuck,” Taehyung sighs.

Jungkook giggles.

“Can I take your picture?” Taehyung asks.

“Sure,” Jungkook says. “I should have left the makeup on.”

“No,” Taehyung replies. “No, you look perfect. Just like this.”


	19. E - namseok, touch-starved

Hoseok traces the line of Namjoon's collarbone to the hollow of his throat—Namjoon makes a little sound, like lying still for that takes a great effort—and then slowly down the center of his chest, his stomach. By the time the pad of Hoseok's finger reaches the waistband of Namjoon's underwear, Namjoon is keening.

"Shh," Hoseok whispers, and kisses Namjoon's mouth to swallow down his desperate noises.

He rocks his cupped hand up and down over Namjoon's dick, but Namjoon starts bucking his hips so much it's better just to go still. Hoseok props his cheek on his hand and lets his hand over, watching muscles work in Namjoon's stomach and legs as he chases the friction. "Hoseok," he whines.

"Say please," Hoseok says.

"Please," Namjoon says.

Hoseok smiles. "Oh, good boy."

He drags his hand back up Namjoon's stomach to touch his face, and Namjoon looks as agonized as an angel falling but he turns his cheek into the touch, ready to take anything.

"Say my name again," Hoseok says.

"Hoseok," Namjoon says immediately. "Ho-seok-ah-please—"

"All right, all right." Hoseok rolls onto his back, knees spread, and puts a bored look on his face as he gestures Namjoon closer. "Take it, then." Namjoon pounces, his hands all over Hoseok's sides and hips and his hot bulk sinking over Hoseok's core.

"Hoseok, Hoseok," he murmurs, until he bites down on Hoseok's shoulder too hard to speak.


	20. E - taekook, body worship

Taehyung's legs try to squeeze closed at the rush up his spine when Jungkook adds a second finger, seeking the relief of pressure on his hard dick or a deeper press inside him. Jungkook clicks his tongue and pushes Taehyung's inner thigh to hold him open. He leaves his hand there, fingers tickling up and down the tender skin, and the gleam in his eye gives away his interest.

He opens his hand inside Taehyung's knee and shapes all the way up the inside of his thigh to the soft spot at the crease of his hip. His fingers slow inside as he tests the give of hard and soft around Taehyung's thigh, his smooth skin and coarse curls.

Taehyung keens, and Jungkook glances up to make sure he's still holding the pillow. Taehyung grips tighter, but Jungkook doesn't give him any more. He pushes Taehyung's knee up until he can grip the meat of Taehyung's ass. He hauls Taehyung's leg over his shoulder and rocks forward, pushing Taehyung's leg back. He wraps his hand around Taehyung's hip, fingers digging, and gives him one more finger slow-slow-slow.

Taehyung is panting, and Jungkook pushes forward, stretching Taehyung's hip until it burns, to dip his tongue into Taehyung's mouth. "You're so soft," he says, and bites at Taehyung's lips.

"Feel pretty hard," Taehyung says, and Jungkook smiles but just nips him again.

"I wanna come," Taehyung says, more sweetly. "Don't you want to make hyung feel good?"

Of course he does. Taehyung catches Jungkook's wide-eyed gaze just before Jungkook wipes it away, putting a silly faux-casual expression on his face as he starts pumping his hand into Taehyung faster. He finds Taehyung's spot and gets him panting again, whining for more, as he tests the straining muscles of Taehyung's arms and shoulders with his other hand. The frustration tips over into a sweet burn, all tight and hot.

"Think you can take one more?" Jungkook asks.

"I think I can take your dick," Taehyung answers, but he doesn't sound tough with his voice gone breathy and hoarse. Jungkook presses his fingers into Taehyung's belly to hold him still and gives him one more.


	21. M - namseok, voyeurism

It's fascinating to watch Hoseok put a dance together. He stands close to the mirror, and there's a whole busy room between him and Namjoon's spot against the wall, but he's captivating. He muffles the noise to silence.

He breaks it down, perfecting one piece of the move at a time—how he opens his knee, swivels his hip, throws his weight forward and back with his shoulders. The control he has over his body is mesmerizing, almost superhuman.

Namjoon's mouth is dry. Trying to drink without looking away, he spills a little from the bottle of water down his chin.

Hoseok puts it together, and it's even more incredible to watch him fit together all those parts into one whole, lighting up his form like electricity.

In his imagination, Namjoon gets up and walks over there and sinks to his knees at Hoseok's feet, he opens his mouth, he struggles for breath as Hoseok controls them both. In this crowded room, everyone would stare, would know.

In real life, Namjoon wipes water off his chin with the back of his hand as Hoseok puts on a stage face, smirking at himself in the mirror.


	22. E - namseok, edging

A shudder rocks Namjoon’s body deep and strong enough that the bed trembles, a quake that seems to come from the center of the earth, and his cock throbs in Hoseok’s hand—so Hoseok lets go, pushing down on Namjoon’s hips to keep him from bucking.

Namjoon makes a terrible, strangled noise, slapping his hands over his red face. It’s a beautiful sound, and Namjoon’s flushed, shining skin is just beautiful, too.

Hoseok has already come twice and he feels like honey, warm and languid and sweet. He trails his finger through the fine, glistening precome at the head of Namjoon’s dick so Namjoon keens.

“Look at me,” Hoseok says. It takes Namjoon some effort, blinking and panting, but he holds eye contact as Hoseok brings his finger to his own mouth. He doesn’t even close his eyes again when he almost sobs, body shaking.

“What a good boy,” Hoseok says, light and mean, and drags his finger slowly out of his own mouth to slide it between Namjoon’s lips. Namjoon’s hot tongue swirls sloppily—he’ll try to drag Hoseok’s patience off him any way he can. Well, let him try.


	23. twice mina/chaeyoung - raindrops on eyelashes

Warm and dry in the doorway, Mina has to squint to watch Chaeyoung move through the darkness and the heavy, opaque lashings of rain. The sky cracks open with a synchronized burst of lightning and thunder, and Mina winces. When she opens her eyes again, she can’t see Chaeyoung at all.

It’s only a few minutes, but Mina spends it rattling her leg on the threshold, gripped in fear—for what Chaeyoung will find, for Chaeyoung herself, for something bigger than the night that she doesn’t even understand.

But Chaeyoung pops back up on the other side of the road, just fine, and she lifts a thumbs-up high in the air for Mina to see before she secures the plastic tub in her arms and ducks her head over it to run back to the building.

“You were right,” Chaeyoung says as she comes under the awning. Her voice is as low and calm as always, incongruous against the storm. “But look, I think they’re all okay.”

She straightens and lifts the tub. A mother cat and four little kittens, all bedraggled from the rain, huddle in the nest of old towels Chaeyoung made for them.

Mina puts a hand to her mouth. New fear washes in over the old fear’s relief, endless like the rain. “Come on, let’s get them warm.”

In the apartment, Chaeyoung drops her sopping raincoat and boots by the door and takes the box right over to the radiator. “Do you want to eat, mama?” she asks the cat, and then in the same calm voice, “Do we have any canned fish?” That one, presumably, was for Mina.

“I’ll check.” Mina finds some in a cabinet and glares at her trembling hands as they struggle to open the can. She breaks some up on a plate and gets a clean kitchen towel, too, as she goes back to where Chaeyoung and the wet tub are dripping all over.

“Here you go.” Mina sets the food down in front of the mother cat, who sniffs but doesn’t move yet, curled tightly around her kittens.

“What a fierce mama,” Chaeyoung says. “We should call you Jihyo.”

Mina laughs, just a little, but it feels like it changes the color of everything inside her chest. “Now come here, you,” she says, taking Chaeyoung’s chin. “Gosh, you’re soaked.”

“It’s raining,” Chaeyoung deadpans.

A thousand things are happening in Mina’s heart, but Chaeyoung lifts her rain-wet face quietly, and the world settles down to the simple task of patting her cheeks dry as the cat mews and moves toward the food.


	24. vmin - your favorite song on repeat for the hundredth time

After school, Jimin and Taehyung board a bus to go to the company. After training, they’ll go back to the dorm with the others, and in the morning, they’ll go to school together again. But it’s this moment, leaving behind the crowd jostling to make Taehyung laugh with one last joke, that always feels the most abrupt.

Taehyung is  _ so _ popular. He’s beautiful and funny and charming and just disruptive enough in class to provide entertainment. Jimin has a lot of friends now, too—a bigger group than he ran with back home—but most of them were Taehyung’s first. It’s all borrowed light, and in a group, Jimin feels it.

But on the bus, in the unlikely privacy that comes from being surrounded by strangers, every watt of Taehyung’s glow is there for Jimin alone to bask in.

Taehyung keeps losing his headphone splitter, so he just gives one earbud to Jimin and keeps the other. Jimin doesn’t even particularly like this song, some old jazzy thing Taehyung’s dad taught him, but he’s listened to it so many times while they try to breathe down their nerves that he can borrow the comfort, too.

“You’re gonna do great,” Jimin whispers. They have the last rehearsal before their monthly review this afternoon. “Everyone loves you.”

Taehyung wrinkles his nose and drops his head on Jimin’s shoulder. “Let’s not think about it,” he whispers back. “Just until we get to the building. Let’s be… spies.”

“Okay, who are we spying on?”

“Hmm.” Taehyung sits up again, and starts the song over when it stops. “There’s a company creating robot super-soldiers to sell to the highest bidder. You’re the idealistic government employee who wants to save the world, and I’m a corporate spy from a rival company that just wants to steal the technology.”

“That sounds—” Jimin stops himself before he says  _ romantic. _ It does, though, doesn’t it? Taehyung is spinning a love story as this sweet old song croons in both their ears.

Jimin swallows hard. “Like Jungkook,” he finishes. “Baby robot super-soldier Jungkookie.”

Taehyung explodes into giggles with a snort so loud the woman in front of them turns around with a glare. Jimin’s heart swells. Everybody was vying to make Taehyung laugh, but it’s Jimin who gets to, whenever he wants.


	25. hopekook - your bed after traveling

Jungkook is tired somewhere deeper than his brain or his eyeballs. He’s tired in his bones, which ache from holding his body up. Exhaustion makes weird piercing twinges in his torso—can your liver get tired? Jungkook’s could, probably.

He fell asleep on the plane but it made the walk to the car hurt like, truly, being stabbed in the head, so he instigated a slap-fight with Jin-hyung instead of falling back asleep again.

But what he’s thinking about is the perfect bed. He’s thinking about the cool slickness of 800-thread-count pima cotton sheets draping smooth and crisp around him, about the subtle deliciousness of amber-scented fabric softener and chamomile-lemon linen spray.

When he gets into the apartment, Jungkook drops his things in the living room and goes directly to that bed, stripping off as much of his clothing as he can get before gravity drags him face-down like timber falling.

He breathes in, and the bed molds around him.

“Jungkook-ah,” comes a lilting voice. “Why don’t you sleep in your own bed, huh? Let hyung get some rest.”

It’s a lie, though, Hoseok is already climbing in next to him, one of his arms gripping hard around Jungkook’s bare chest. Hoseok says something else, quieter and closer, but Jungkook misses it in the closing dark of rest.


	26. yoonjin - the tender ache when you press against bruises

Over in his bed, Yoongi keeps pressing the heel of his hand into the spot on his hip where he fell in dance practice this morning, pressing until he makes himself wince, and then grabbing his wrist with his other hand to forcibly pull it away. He stops, but not for long until he’s digging at his hip again.

Seokjin can feel it in his own chest, every press.

“Yoongi-yah!” he says, aiming for a bright tone and hitting stern.

Yoongi jumps—maybe he thought Seokjin was asleep, or was so deep in his head he’d just lost track of Seokjin in the room. “Hunh?”

“Watch a movie with me.” Seokjin is already standing, pushing his bed closer to Yoongi’s. They should just leave them pressed together instead of pushing and pulling them around every day.

“I’m tired,” Yoongi says, all whiny but sitting up and getting his laptop. “What do you want to watch?”

“I don’t care,” Seokjin says. “Something with lots of explosions. Something where a beautiful underutilized woman tells the male lead his safety matters more than the nation. You know, that sort of thing.”

“Ugh, hyung,” Yoongi says, already tapping away at his keyboard, something in mind.

Seokjin sits in his own bed and stretches his arm back along his headboard and Yoongi’s, not putting his arm around Yoongi’s shoulders—not that—but mimicking the shape of it.

As the opening credits begin, Yoongi settles back in his own bed, curling up around that Kumamon he sometimes pretends to hide with his face toward the middle of the bed. Not curling into Seokjin’s side, but mimicking the shape of it. Seokjin can feel how they’d fit together if they slid closer, the place on his own chest Yoongi’s head would rest. He can feel it, a tender ache, like pressing a bruise.

Yoongi sighs, and shifts another inch closer.


	27. namjoon/jackson - hero and villain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A prompt for #writethisyourstyle_p1 on Twitter: the villain shows up at the hero's door covered in blood.

After Seokjin made him set an alarm so he wouldn’t keep forgetting, Namjoon does his skincare routine at eleven every night, no matter how late after that he stays up reading or working. It turns out, the ritual of it is a little bit magic — it turns the rest of the night into a quiet, stolen witching hour, his own. He takes out his contacts before he washes his face, and in his glasses, he has no peripheral vision. There is nothing in front of him but his book, for as long as he wants to read it, and then the cool, peaceful expanse of his bed.

It’s nice, in a new way. He’s getting used to it. It’s okay.

His nights were not so peaceful before, he thinks treacherously. His nights were not so quiet. He did not spend his nights alone, before.

The lilting chime of the doorbell hits like a gong, startling him up. He almost stumbles through the apartment, bleary at the reminder of others awake in the world. Now it feels dangerous not to have his peripheral vision, like a predator could come up from any side.

He is both viscerally shocked and not surprised at all to see Jackson’s face on the monitor.

_ What are you doing here, _ he imagines himself saying, or,  _ go away. _ His finger presses the “speak” button. “Are you bleeding?” he asks.

Jackson touches his nose and grins down at his fingers as he pulls them away, his smile radiant under the blood smeared over his lips. “Some girl on the dance floor was fist-pumping too hard,” he says. Then, in his sweet, teasing whine, “How come you weren’t there to protect me, Namjoon-ah?”

“Because you dumped me,” Namjoon says flatly.

“Don’t be like that,” Jackson says. (Like what? Aware of reality? Jackson  _ would _ find that annoying.) “Let me in. Where else am I supposed to go?”

“Go to your new apartment,” Namjoon says.

“No way.” Jackson leans against the wall on one arm, closer to the camera, so Namjoon’s monitor is full of the delicate interlocking angles of his jaw and neck and shoulder. Namjoon can’t get a deep breath, chest heavy like someone’s sitting on it. “My landlady’s all nosy, she’ll kick me out if she sees me like this.”

That’s not Namjoon’s problem, but he can’t make himself say  _ That’s not my problem. _

“Namjoon-ah,” Jackson says softly, the way only he can, like each consonant is a new curve in a kiss.

“Stop,” Namjoon says. “Just stop.” He presses the button to open the door. 

Namjoon goes to the bathroom sink to wet a washcloth as Jackson lurches his drunk ass up the stairs. Namjoon still feels like he can’t  _ see, _ and his head is spinning so fast it’s making his hands clumsy and slow. He gets in a deep breath, but somehow it makes his chest feel tighter, worse.

“Namjoon-ah!” Jackson calls from the door as he lets himself in. Now his voice sounds bigger, blustery — mocking. Namjoon thought it was mocking when they first met, and then Jackson convinced him it was something else, but now he’s sure again this bravado is making fun of him, somehow. Almost sure.

Namjoon doesn’t look in the mirror. He takes one more breath, and goes out.

Jackson is sitting on the sofa, paging through Namjoon’s novel with a frown creasing his forehead, like he always used to look when he had to try hard to understand Namjoon.

“Don’t get blood everywhere.” Namjoon hands the washcloth forward.

Jackson blinks at it, and then turns his face up, closing his eyes.

“Come on,” Namjoon says, nudging Jackson’s shoulder with the knuckles of his wet hand. It’s no contact, really, nothing at all, bone on white James Dean t-shirt, but Namjoon feels it everywhere.

Jackson opens his eyes, sighing, and takes the cloth, and then sets it down next to him on Namjoon’s sofa and goes back to the book.

“Oh come  _ on,” _ Namjoon says. He snatches the cloth up again and grabs Jackson’s jaw with his other hand, so roughly he immediately regrets it. But Jackson only smiles as he closes his eyes again. 

More gently, Namjoon wipes the blood away from Jackson’s nose and mouth. It’s messy work; the cloth seems to smear the mess around more than absorbing it, making everything worse.

But Namjoon folds it over and presses a new clean spot to Jackson’s skin, and soon he’s wiping the last pink smears of blood away. Jackson’s upper lip is a little fat, too, purple with a new bruise, and he winces when Namjoon presses too hard there.

“Sorry,” Namjoon says.

Jackson makes a strange noise, a tiny scoff of disbelief.

“What?” Namjoon asks. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know,” Jackson says, his voice small with terrible honesty.

Job done, Namjoon starts to pull away. Jackson grabs his wrist, keeping him there—hunched in front of the sofa with a wet, bloody cloth a few centimeters from Jackson’s face.

Namjoon’s heart pounds. Maybe Jackson can feel the beat, his fingers gripping tight over the tender skin inside Namjoon’s wrist. Maybe Namjoon will have a bruise tomorrow, when Jackson is gone again.

“How come you always treat me like the bad guy?” Jackson asks.

_ Don’t hurt me, _ Namjoon thinks.  _ Please don’t hurt me. _ He sets his jaw. “Why don’t you do something good?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twt](https://www.twitter.com/ninamonday)


	28. vhopekook - Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written last year based on this image from the legendary dispatch Christmas card shoot:

Taehyung peeks out the window as he shimmies into the pajama pants Jungkook gave him. Wind pushes snow against the side of the building in big, smooth drifts like waves. It's still coming down, fat flakes falling fast and hard as bullets, and when lightning strikes he jumps back from the window, yelping.

"I'm so sorry," he says as he walks back into the living room. "There's definitely no way I can leave tonight. Maybe not tomorrow."

"That's fine," Jungkook says. "We have presents for you and everything."

Taehyung only meant to stay long enough that the storm would keep him from his parents' Christmas Eve party with his mom's coworkers. He didn't mean to get stuck so long he'd miss spending tomorrow morning with his siblings, or intrude on Jungkook and Hoseok's Christmas.

"I'm sorry," Taehyung says again, voice wobbling, as Hoseok comes in laden with mugs. 

"Don't be sorry," he says. "Wow, handsome!"

That's silly—Taehyung is just wearing an old sweater and pajama pants of Jungkook's, a little big on him, comfortably worn though they smell clean and fresh from the laundry—but Jungkook giggles, almost like he's nervous, and says, "Taehyungie-hyung's always handsome."

Taehyung sighs as he sits down next to Jungkook on the couch. "I didn't mean to ruin your Christmas."

"You're not ruining anything," Hoseok says, stuffing a mug of hot wine into Taehyung's hands as Jungkook bundles a red fleece blanket over them all. It's a perfect piece of Christmas decor, both functional and festive, the kind of little touch their apartment is full of this holiday season. This cozy, clean domestic precision is far beyond Taehyung, who has once again proven he's just a disaster, that he can't plan ahead or think anything through.

"It'll be even more fun with you here," Jungkook says. "An extra Christmas present."

That seems like a shocking thing for him to say while his literally perfect boyfriend is sitting right here, on Taehyung's other side. They were just talking about how happy they are to share their first Christmas as a couple. But Hoseok just beams, petting first Jungkook's head and then Taehyung's with his arm draped along the back of the couch.

Taehyung ducks his face and takes a sip of the wine Hoseok gave him. It's warm in his hands and smells spicy and sweet, and he's excited to taste it—but it's  _ horrible,  _ bitter and medicinal and not as fruity as it smells at all. He can't keep himself from making a face—it takes a lot of effort not to gag.

"Oh, is it bad?" Jungkook asks, and that is what leads him to enthusiastically take a sip of his own. He lifts his face looking absolutely  _ betrayed,  _ tongue sticking out. 

"No, really?" Hoseok says. "This is Yoongi-hyung's recipe." He brings his mug to his lips, and holds himself very still to avoid reacting. "I like it," he says, voice thin.

Jungkook and Taehyung laugh as Hoseok sighs and starts collecting the mugs. "I'll make hot chocolate, how's that?"

"Much better," Taehyung says.

"Sure, if that's what Taehyungie-hyung wants," Jungkook says.

"Right." Hoseok stands and tucks the blanket back into Taehyung's side, rearranging things so somehow he ends up pressed right into Jungkook's side.

"It's Christmas," Hoseok says, looking right into Taehyung's eyes as he hovers over both of them. He taps Taehyung's chin and then Jungkook's, exactly the same way. "So Taehyung can have anything he wants."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic of] a kiss in grief](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28577367) by [knight_tracer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/knight_tracer/pseuds/knight_tracer)
  * [[Podfic of] a kiss as a yes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28579530) by [knight_tracer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/knight_tracer/pseuds/knight_tracer)




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